


A new New Years

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John Watson, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, New Years, One Shot, Sharing a Bed, anxious sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: “You could just kiss me,” Sherlock offered in an indifferent rumble and a shrug, eyes rolling when John huffed at him in response, “well that’s what you’re sulking about, isn’t it? Not having anyone to kiss in the New Year with? Just do it with me if you’re so eager for it.”





	A new New Years

**Author's Note:**

> Gem and I would like to wish all our readers a Happy New Year. Wishing you all the very best for 2019, may it bring you everything you desire.

A lean, white, elegant hand slipped into John’s line of sight, long fingers cradling the smooth curve of a filled wine glass, and John turned to give Sherlock a glance as he took it, “You could just kiss me,” Sherlock offered in an indifferent rumble and a shrug, eyes rolling when John huffed at him in response, “well that’s what you’re sulking about, isn’t it? Not having anyone to kiss in the New Year with? Just do it with me if you’re so _eager_ for it.” He turned to stand beside John at the living room window, their arms brushing. He looked posher than normal in his black suit jacket, pale violet shirt, and matching black trousers. The only thing that made him humble, made him seem more down to earth, was the silly hat lodged in his hair, held on with a tight elastic string that was cutting into his jaw and under his chin.

“And let everyone have a ‘told you so’ celebration?” John asked, turning to look over his shoulder where Donovan and Anderson stood gossiping in the corner of the room. “They'd make our lives _hell_ if they saw that.”

“I don’t see how that’s any different than what they do currently,” Sherlock retorted, lifting his own glass of sherry for a small sip. “They are going to be nuisances whether we kiss or not.” He gave John a sideways look and then arched his nearest eyebrow. “Since when did you care what they thought or did? Their opinions don’t matter. Never did.”

John lifted his own drink, taking a few deep gulps of red wine before he gave a half shrug, “I don't care what they say about me… but I don't want them to take the piss out of you more than they already do. Outing you as gay, suggesting that there is -” he hesitated, “intimacy between us… they'll have more ammunition to tease you.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched a bit before he pressed his lips together tightly, pursing them and turning his head to John, both eyebrows lifting, “As gallant as that is, I couldn’t care less what they say or think of me. They can tease me all they want. They only do it because they are insecure and inadequate--Well, that and Sally is still mighty sore over the fact I turned her down. She was a lot like Molly when I was first introduced to her, but a bit more... _determined_. I embarrassed her by saying no and telling her why I was saying no, so there would be no misunderstanding, and she’s been venomous ever since.”

Gazing up at Sherlock, John felt his serious facade crack and he began to giggle, his red wine stained lips widening as he chuckled, “She tried to _shag_ you?” he asked with a titter, “Sally? She wanted to – Jesus, she _definitely_ lowered her standards for Anderson”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Sherlock sniffed with a grin and a friendly wink, taking another sip from his glass. “As I said, insecure and inadequate.”

“So… You are – gay, then?” John asked, watching as a fat tabby cat ran across the road outside the window. “We've never really discussed it.”

“Because it didn’t _need_ discussing,” Sherlock told him, though he sucked on his bottom lip, glanced down into his drink, swirled it around with a slow roll of his wrist and then looked back up at John. “Yes.”

“I've always wondered about my own sexuality,” John replied, taking another drink and turning to look at Sherlock, “I mean… I've always preferred women, but there have been… others. _Men_. People I mean. Not often but – occasionally. It's probably a 90/10 split towards women… does that make me bi? It says so on the internet...”

“I don’t think it matters,” Sherlock answered with a shrug. “You could fit into many labels. There are quite a number of them. I don’t always feel comfortable conforming to one and being judged _solely_ on that and nothing else as if nothing else has any merit.”

“I'll kiss you,” John said quickly, eyes flicking to the clock on the mantle which said they only had a few moments until the new year begun, “I’d like that.”

Smiling at him, face open and softened, Sherlock gave a nod, clinking his glass to John’s, “As would I.”

“ _Everyone_!” Mrs Hudson's shrill voice cut through the chatter of the room bringing a hushed silence around them, “Let's start the countdown! 10, 9… 8...”  
  
“7… 6...” John mumbled, putting his glass down and then reaching for Sherlock's so it could join his on the sill, “5… 4… 3…”  
  
The last two numbers were lost as John leaned in, one hand reaching for Sherlock's waist whilst the other cupped his cheek. Their lips met on the count of one, tender and gentle as the room around them erupted with cheers and party poppers. The sound of fireworks from across the Thames was audible but John ignored it as he deepened the kiss slightly, opening his mouth with a soft moan.

Sherlock stroked several fingers down the side of John’s face as he accepted it as the invitation it was and licked hotly across John’s teeth, his tongue, before retreating with a purposeful pressure of a returning kiss, leaving the taste of sherry, chocolate, and mint to tingle on John’s taste buds, “Happy New Year, John,” he husked as he leaned back, eyes lidded, mouth plump, and cheeks a glowing pink.

“Happy New Year, Sherlock,” John said in reply, hands still in place on Sherlock. John was reluctant to pull back, pulling away seemed to force this to have never happened – to force them back into their only odd intimacy as friends and workmates.

With a small smile, Sherlock smoothed his thumb over the hinge of John’s jaw, “All right?” he asked, voice almost lost to the noise from all around them.

“Yes... _No_ … yes,” John nodded, pushing his face into Sherlock's hand, “I – that was – Thank you.”

Bending his head toward him again, Sherlock pushed a quick, gentle kiss to John’s cheek, “And thank you,” he whispered into his skin, words shivering over him. He pulled back completely then and turned, reaching out his hand to Lestrade who had just started jogging joyfully over to them.

“Happy New Year, Sherlock!” he exclaimed as he tightly shook Sherlock’s hand, pulling him into a bear hug that lifted him a few inches from the ground. Lestrade then let him go, patted both of Sherlock’s cheeks, and twisted for John, grabbing him for an embrace too. “Happy New Year, John!”

John was still slightly dazed from the kiss and was too slow to avoid Greg's drunken hug, feeling himself getting shook from side to side by the intoxicated DI, “Happy New Year, Greg,” John huffed, waiting until Greg had put him back down before he shook his hand. “Glad to see you're starting off the New Year with a _banging_ hangover.”

“Yeah well,” he snorted with a loose shrug, giving John a thumping pat on his shoulders. “All the other New Years were started the same way, why stop now, eh?”

“Hmm,” John said non-committally, flicking his eyes to Sherlock. “Maybe it’s time for a change this year.”

Sherlock was giving Mrs Hudson a kiss on the cheek as she cradled him to her body, beaming and laughing something into his ear, “ _Maybe_ ,” Lestrade huffed in agreement, “but isn’t that what we all say every year too? All these resolutions we make too, they’re almost _always_ the same. Nothing much seems to change!”

“True enough,” John smiled, taking his wine and downing it in one gulp. “Maybe something needs to happen to make you reevaluate what you want in life,” he said cryptically before nodding to the kitchen, “I need another drink, excuse me.”

“Something, or _someone_?” Lestrade asked with a knowing grin and a jaunty wave of a nearby beer bottle he picked up.

John headed to the kitchen, giving a few people handshakes, kisses on the cheeks or pats on the shoulders as he passed by. He poured himself a drink, refreshed the nibbles on the table and busied himself with menial tasks until, slowly but surely, their friends began to head home. Donovan and Anderson, who had busied themselves by snogging in the hallway, were the last to go, moved on by Lestrade who practically picked Anderson up by the collar and hoisted him outside with a laugh and a called out goodbye.  
  
Mrs Hudson tutted as she picked up a bin bag and began to bustle around the living room, collecting rubbish and empty glasses to clean whilst John binned the food in the kitchen, eyes straying over at Sherlock who was standing by the window again.  
  
“You can leave that until tomorrow, Mrs Hudson,” John suggested. “It's not important. It's too late to be cleaning now, Mrs Turner will already be furious with us for keeping her awake with all the racket.”  
  
“Oh, if you're quite sure?” Mrs Hudson fussed, but dropped the bag and headed to the living room door quickly – suspiciously quickly, if John was honest with himself, “I'll pop over tomorrow afternoon. Don't get up early on my account.”  
  
“I doubt we'll be sleeping in until midday,” John scoffed, only to see Mrs Hudson's smug smirk as she headed out of the door and down to her own flat. “What's going on with her? There was no fight… no argument… it's like she _wanted_ to flee for her life.”

“Mrs Hudson has the ability to see across a crowded room,” Sherlock replied, turning slightly to look at John, one side of his face highlighted by the continually popping fireworks, the street lamps, and the peeking moon. “In other words, she saw us kiss. Took a photo of it, in fact.”

“Oh _brilliant_. I expect that in a frame by the end of the week,” John groused, rubbing a hand through his hair. “It was er – good though, that, the kiss. It was good.”

With a nod and a twisting smirk, Sherlock turned back to look outside, “Yes. It was rather,” he murmured, then abruptly stepped away from the window, collecting a few glasses near him with a deft hand, “I’m glad of it. Would have been a little awkward if it had been not so good.”

“Nah,” John said as he cleared the table with a flirtatious glance up at Sherlock, “we could have just practised. Kept going until it was perfect… thankfully it was good so we don't have to practice. We can just do it again for real… if… if you want?”

Sherlock walked past on his way to the kitchen and gave him a considering and inspecting gaze, “ _For real_ ,” he repeated as he carefully put the glasses into the sink, “Yes, all right.”

“And – maybe a cuddle?” John suggested, eyeing up the sofa. “No pressure, just – think it would be nice.”

“You want to _cuddle_ me?” Sherlock questioned with pure shock, reaching to finally take the silly party hat from his head. It left a red line across his light skin. “I’m not sure if I’m any good at that.”

Turning around to look at Sherlock, John trailed his finger across the red mark and tilted his head sensually, “I just want to be closer to you,” he admitted, “I've felt it for a while but I didn't… I wasn't sure if you…” He waved his other hand,. “I guess I just needed a bit of Dutch courage.”

Sherlock blinked at him, stared with wide eyes, and a full out beaming smile broke out across his face, “I _do_ ,” he said, swallowing thickly with obvious anxiousness but stepping closer, searching John’s face, his eyes, the pulse in Sherlock’s neck visibly thundering. “Feel it too, I mean. For _you_. Yet I also wasn’t--Well, to be completely honest I thought you weren’t interested. _At all_. In me.”

John huffed out a laugh, a combination of relief and happiness, “Truth be told I tried to pretend I wasn't. I – Always thought I was straight for a long time. I've never fancied blokes as much as women, as I said before. Never even been that tempted by one but… You are _always_ different,” he smiled shyly.

A flush took over Sherlock’s entire face and he ducked his head, just as shy, fingers tugging at his jacket sleeves, “And you are _always_ the exception.”

“We're bloody idiots,” John beamed, eyes sparkling as he stepped up on tiptoes to kiss Sherlock's cheek.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed in agreement, gathering John up in a clumsy hug, arms tight and strong and warm. He pressed his forehead and nose to the side of John’s face, to his cheek, and then began peppering coy, soft kisses everywhere he could reach.

John tangled his fingers into Sherlock's hair, holding him close and feeling those silky threads between his digits. There was barely an inch between them – so desperate for closeness were they – and John pulled back a tiny amount so he could kiss Sherlock's lips again, tender and soft and fleeting.

“I’ll cuddle with you,” Sherlock said, voice shaking and eyes, when they glanced at John from under trembling lashes, glistening with tears. He looked away and clenched at John’s back, resting their noses together. “For as long as you like.”

“ _Hey_ ,” John whispered, a little furrow of distress in his forehead as he reached up to stroke his thumbs under Sherlock's eyes. “Why are you upset? Am I… am I pushing too hard?”

Sherlock shook his head quickly, “ _No_! No. Of course not, no,” he told him, swallowing hard again when a tear escaped to wet John’s thumbnail. Sherlock grimaced and then forced a wonky smile, bottom lip wobbling and chin crumpling. “It’s nothing.”

“It's not nothing,” John whispered, eyes meeting Sherlock's watery ones. “Tell me? _Please_? No more secrets.”

“It’s _really_ nothing,” Sherlock assured him with a patting of John’s arm, even as the tears kept coming and his breath hitched. “I’m...just happy--” He coughed out a laugh and wrenched himself away, rubbing roughly at his face and eyes, his back turned to John. He sniffed, cleared his throat, and pushed back his hair, and then meekly turned back around. “--Exhaustion is making things difficult. I’ve not slept, as you know, and so it’s merely catching up with me.”

“Sleep with me,” John said quickly, then blinked at the connotations, “I mean in bed – _just sleep_! Nothing… nothing else. It's a win-win for both of us. We get cuddles, and you get to sleep, plus I get to fuss over you. It's perfect...” He smiled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and pulling him in close again, feeling for the first time how truly slim Sherlock's torso was. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Sherlock replied as he melted against him, sniffling with a hitching, choking gasp on every next inhale. “My bed or yours?”

“Yours is more comfortable, but mine is further away from Mrs Hudson when she comes prying in the morning,” John laughed. “Take your pick.”

“She won’t pry,” Sherlock told him, playing with and then smoothing at hem of John’s jumper. “Mine then.” He took a shuddering breath and coyly smiled, closing his eyes to rest their brows together. “Yours tomorrow night.”

“Deal,” John smiled, kissing the corner of Sherlock's mouth before pulling away, “I'll turn the music off, and go get my pyjamas and then meet you in your room.”

“I’m going to brush my teeth,” Sherlock said, gripping at his own arms for a moment without John to hang on to, and then he span on his heel and marched out, heading for the bathroom. John watched him go, catching sight of him wiping his face again before he disappeared inside, and felt an ache of devotion spike through his chest. It wasn’t the first time it had done so.

Heading to the corner off the room, John switched off the small speaker which was playing smooth jazz quietly and then walked to his room. There was an anxious buzz of excitement in the pit of his stomach that John couldn't explain – They had shared beds before on stake outs and when Sherlock was too exhausted that he simply collapsed whenever he was – but it seemed different this time, far more exciting and sensual than he had anticipated.  
  
Stepping out of his jeans and pants and into his pyjama bottoms, John pulled out a fresh t-shirt and pulled that on too, giving his underarms a few spritzes with deodorant before heading back downstairs, hesitating at the threshold to Sherlock's room.  
  
“Are you decent?” he asked finally, giving a gentle knock on the door. “I can use the bathroom if you need more time to change.”

The door opened and Sherlock smiled at him, gesturing him in as he strolled to stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed, clad in his soft t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, “You should really use the bathroom anyway. You have a routine. Don’t give it up on my account - Though it might smell a bit off in there. I threw up. Twice.”

“You were sick?” John blinked, walking to Sherlock and putting a hand on his forehead., “Did you drink too much? I didn't notice you having more than two sherries? Or is it...” he paused, “was it anxiety? Did you make yourself sick by _panicking_?”

“I wasn’t _exactly_ panicking per se…” Sherlock mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I’m fine now, anyway. Perfectly fine.”

“Daft arse,” John smiled playfully, giving a shake of his head. “I'm going to the loo and brush my teeth, so get into bed and get comfortable. Nothing is going to happen. We're going to have a bit of a cuddle and go to sleep. Nothing to be anxious about, okay?”

“I’m _not_ anxious,” Sherlock told him, fidgeting on his feet. “I’ll...wait for you. In bed. On the side I prefer to sleep on. It’s not the side you do so there’s no need to worry.” He jerkily stepped around and pulled back the duvet, slipping under it with robotic slowness. He looked like a frightened teenager.

John sighed and then walked over to the bed, slipping in the other side and shuffling across until he was laid on his side, one hand tucked under his cheek, “You need to relax,” he said quietly, his other hand reaching out to touch Sherlock's hand under the duvet. “This is all it’s going to be tonight – and forever if that's what you want – we don't have to – do anything else. Just cuddles and kisses if that's all you want. I don't care.”

“Yes you do,” Sherlock whispered, face unreadable while his fingers shifted to entangle with John’s, stroking and gripping. “It’s all right. I’ll wait for you. Go and brush your teeth. You hate going to bed without doing so.”

“You're sure?” John asked, “I can wait until you fall asleep… I don't want you feeling like you can't talk to me about this. Is it… are you worried about… well… _sex_?”

Sherlock’s eyes darted to him briefly, “No…” he uttered, a surprisingly blatant lie. “I’m trying not to ruin it. _This_. I’m not anxious, I’m only not as confident as I thought I would be about having you return my feelings and want to sleep with me.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed shuffling closer so they were almost touching entirely, “you _couldn't_ ruin it. Just – be you. I like you exactly how you are, grumpy and brilliant and clever and annoying. I adore _everything_ about you. The only way you would ever make me stop wanting to be with you, is if you cheat on me. You're never going to cheat, are you?” he asked.

“ _What_?--No!” Sherlock exclaimed with a furious glare, sitting up in the bed and sending the mattress shaking. “You really have to ask me that? - You think I’d do _that_?”

“ _Exactly_ ,” John said as he sat up too, wrapping an arm around Sherlock and resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder, “you'd never do that, and I wouldn't do it to you either. We're going to be good together, Sherlock and yes, it's going to take a bit of time to get used to the change between us – but it'll be great. I don't want to rush into sex, I don't want to rush into _anything_. I just want us to be us, but with added kisses and cuddles.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you changed your mind, you know,” Sherlock told him, turning to rest his chin against John’s forehead, one hand reaching to cup his neck, fingers combing lovingly through the short hairs at his nape. He smelt purely of himself now he was in his sleepwear and John inhaled deeply, tucking his nose into the loose collar for more. “I don’t want you to, but I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I'm not going to,” John promised. “You're it for me now.”

In the next moment John was pushed on his back to the bed with Sherlock covering him and kissing every inch of his neck, and cheek, his shaking, beautiful hands stroking and gripping at him, “I hope so,” he whispered, sounding on the edge of tears again.

“Shhh now,” John whispered, arms wrapping around Sherlock as much as possible to touch, soothe and caress him gently over the cotton soft t-shirt. “I've got you, you're alright. It's going to be okay.”

Sherlock kissed his way across John’s nose and then into the outside corner of each eye, “Don’t be patronising,” he said through a quivering grin, nosing at John’s other cheek and angling to put their mouths together. They kissed slightly, lips lingering, pressing, parting, and connecting, and John met Sherlock’s sweet, minty tongue with his own when things deepened, thrilling at the feeling of tasting him.

John's hand rested at the bottom of Sherlock's back, holding him tightly as they kissed. John realised rapidly that he was making soft little hums and groans with each sweep of his tongue, caressing Sherlock's with his own in a gentle rhythm that soon had their heartbeats pounding. It stayed calm, experimenting, and tender until Sherlock opened his mouth further for John, exhaling a husky grunt through his nose, fingers tightening enough to pinch and dig into John’s skin. An explosion of lust coursed through John, heating his skin until it perspired, and filling his slightly warm, plump cock until it arched rigid and wanting in his pyjamas, wetting a small spot with pre-ejaculate. It was dizzying and John felt suddenly high, floating and tingling with want for Sherlock. The next kiss was all tongues and so fervour-filled that it was loud, almost echoing, around the bedroom.

“ _Sherlock_...” John groaned, hips kicking up before he pulled back and let his head fall against the pillows. “We need to stop – we should… _oh God_.” He gasped deep lungfuls of breath.

Sherlock, shaking, moved back with a few blinks, visibly dazed, “Right,” he husked, mouth red and glistening with John’s saliva. It made his cock twitch. “You’re right. Yes. I...I got a bit...carried away…” He coughed to clear his voice of it’s lustful rasping quality and shifted to sit up against the headboard, panting, face red.

“Yeah, me too...” John gulped, hand moving to cup his now hard cock and push it down so it was less obvious under the tent of the duvet, “I'll er – use the loo.” Cheeks flushed pink as he tried to shuffle to the edge of the bed with some dignity. “I'll need to er – deal with this.” He waved at his midsection.,

With a twitchy nod Sherlock crawled across to him and cupped his face, kissing him again, a small humming moan passing between them, “I’m _not_ sorry, but I _am_ repentant,” he said, stroking his long fingers behind John’s ears.

John kissed Sherlock back, but pulled away just as it was starting to become heated again, “Vile tempter!” John laughed, swatting at Sherlock playfully., “Stop it or I'll _burst_.”

Grinning in both smug pride and coy uncertainty, Sherlock lifted his hands in submission and sat back, “Apologies,” he said with a chuckle.

“Don't look at my stiffy,” John grumbled as he stood on unsteady legs, still half cupping his genitals as he shuffled around the bed towards the bathroom. “This is not the romantic, effortlessly charming first time I had dreamed of...”

“...Should I feel bad about that?” Sherlock asked him as he shifted to lie back down, covering himself with the duvet, watching John with dilated pupils.

“Not one bit,” John smirked over his shoulder at Sherlock, “Get yourself comfortable for bed and I'll be back soon.”

Sherlock smiled at him and twisted onto his side, “Don’t take too long.”

“Believe me, that won't be a problem,” John said and closed the door behind him, hissing as his feet met the cold tile of the bathroom floor. His cock ached with how stiff it was, and John barely managed to reach the sink before his hand was inside his trousers and his fist was around his cock.

The sensation was like a punch to the gut and John groaned loudly, biting his lip as he worked his hand up and down, well practised in how to pleasure himself. John had done this plenty of times prior, wanking in the privacy of the bathroom whilst Sherlock slept or was out – but he had never done it when Sherlock was aware of him doing so, and the intimacy increased the arousal tenfold and soon had John on the edge of a spectacular orgasm.  
  
“Fuck…. _Sherlock_ …. Yes,” John growled under his breath, his other hand reaching to grasp the edge of the sink as he fucked into his fist. “ _Fuck_...”  
  
He came hard seconds later, erupting into his fist and across the porcelain of the sink in thick threads. His legs shook, head swimming as he coaxed the last weak pulses onto his hand before running the tap and rinsing the evidence away.  
  
Once he was able to move, John brushed his teeth and used the loo before striding back through the adjoining door to the bedroom.

Sherlock was in the same position as he’d last been in but now fast asleep, his mouth loosely open against the pillow as he breathed slow and steady and quiet, fingers half curled where they were reaching across the mattress. He twitched as John shut the door behind him, though only slightly, and stretched out his legs with a drawn-out sigh. It was clear to John that he wasn’t in a deep sleep, not yet at any rate, and he stood beside the bed, weighing his options, wondering what the best course of action was now.

His cold feet seemed to make the decision for him and he found himself climbing in beside Sherlock once more, careful not to wake him as he shifted and positioned himself, keeping a distance between them so not to force his heat upon the other man who was sleeping so peacefully.  
  
Turning to his side, John looked over at Sherlock for a second, then turned off the bedside lamp and relaxed into the pillow, “Happy New Year,” he said again, a large smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

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